


The Former Reflections

by RagingBookDragon



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: Jason has waking nightmares. More often then not, they occur when he's not sleeping, but awake.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Former Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post on here, so this is more me trying to understand how AO3 works lol. This is a post from my Tumblr, 'RagingBookDragon'. I hope you enjoy!

He’s standing in the middle of an open floor, distorted ceiling and walls seeming to close him in. It sends shivers all throughout his body and down his spine as ice races through darkened veins; every exhale produces crystals of frost floating in the air. His fingers are twitching against his chest as he rubs, trying to remember the one tip he’d given him all those years ago, ‘rub your chest, the arms can take care of themselves’. He takes the chance to look down, the floor of the large and open room an opaque mirror shocking him as he views it.  
  
Before he can stop it, his legs are buckling from underneath him, knees hitting the hard surface, liquid splashing around where he lands. Confusion spreads through his mind as his denim jeans begin to soak a darker color, and his hands are leaving his chest to press flat against the mirror. He stills long enough for his reflection to clear, but it’s no help, the image as distorted as the walls around him. Confusion snaps into a flare of anger, and he’s sliding his hands along the ground, slapping water away, digging deeper and deeper into the floor to find himself. There’s sickening laugh somewhere behind him, but the insistence to clear the muddled likeness overwhelms all instincts to look behind and preserve himself.  
  
He slams his fists into the water and holds them there, waiting for the ripples to quit so maybe this time he can see himself. The view is beginning to take shape, and what he sees staring back at him makes him freeze, body going colder than the temperature warp around him. His mouth’s dropping in open gawk, the image so far from what he sees when he looks in the mirror nowadays. The green mask torn and blackened around the edges, hangs loosely from his face; the crimson suit ripped open revealing lacerations across his body, and the faded goldenrod cape lay shredded across his shoulders. Any of what he sees should make him horrified, but it’s the haunted look in the former ice-blue eyes he no longer recognizes, that truly horrifies him. Dark circles seem to enhance the blue, dragging it out from cold, dead eyes; he tries to suck in a breath but his throat closes up and a ripple sends through the water, prompting him to recoil, hands reaching up to make sure what he’s perceived isn’t real. There’s a split second of relief as his frozen fingertips touch nothing but his skin, however, it quickly fades as he hears the cackle again.  
  
He’s got but a moment to twist, and he’s staring at the thing that’s haunted his nightmares since that day. A chilling grin spreads across stitched cheeks, and his eyes are widening as he eyes the metal piece gripped in the purple glove. His mouth falls open again to plead a stop, but the sounds won’t come out as he plans, and before he can move, the metal is coming down at him, smacking straight into his temple. Searing pain shoots from the impact, and he’s falling, hitting the ground, water drenching his clothes. Another cackle echoes around, yet he can’t seem to will movement into his arms, and the piece is falling again and again.  
  
He’s sure he’s dying as a door shuts, leaving him alone, and as he tries to shift his broken and bloodied limbs, a ticking enters his ears. Panic rises to the surface and he’s pushing up onto his forearms, crawling towards the exit as fast as he can manage. Everything is hurting, bones groaning under the strain as he reaches the door, hand rising to twist at the doorknob. It turns maybe a millimeter before he hears the telltale click of a lock, and his hand is dropping back against the floor. He’s already given up, nevertheless, he shifts his body until his back’s pressed up against the door, and he’s staring at the drums laced with explosives. His eyes drift to the timer, and as it’s nearing the final seconds, he shuts them, too afraid to see the ending he’s faced a million times. A calming breath escapes him as the last tick crosses the circuit before an explosion rocks the room.  
  
He jerks awake, looking down at the sink he’s got in a white-knuckled grip, breath ragged as he sucks in the air to his crying lungs. Trembles tingle all up and down his spine, and he directs his gaze to the fogged mirror. A ghost is staring back lifelessly at him, and he reaches up, sliding his hand along the moisture that’s collected, clearing it away until all that remains is himself; _a new body that holds the same used and broken soul._


End file.
